


Unknown Number

by annabellelux



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Simon living life at peak Cluelessness, Simon’s never heard of spellcheck in his life and Baz is married to the Institution of Grammar, Soulmate AU, Watford Seventh Year, texting fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29500584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabellelux/pseuds/annabellelux
Summary: Simon thought the soulmate spell would confirm what he already knew: that his destiny was Agatha.But when the enchantment is cast on his mobile, it’s not Agatha on the other side. It's an unknown number. A stranger. (And a bit of an arsehole.)Who needs destiny, anyway?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 200
Kudos: 287





	1. Acquaintance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waterwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterwings/gifts).



> Happy birthday to the one and only @waterwings! You are my fandom soulmate, and I love you so damned much.  
> To commemorate our shared love of texting fics on this blessed day, here’s a soulmate texting AU!
> 
> Thanks for the beta help @scone-lover & @aliceliddle♡
> 
> Hope you all enjoy~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon meets his soulmate.

**Simon**

**Me (11:40 A.M.):** _ hey!!! :)  _

**Unknown Number (11:48 A.M.):** _ Hello. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.  _

I blink several times at the screen, puzzled by the odd introduction. 

This can't be right. 

**Me (11:49 A.M.):** _why would u need to make my acquaintance. u know me_

I struggle to find the humour in the message. Agatha's not one for practical jokes. (She used to turn her nose up at the pranks Baz and I used to pull back in third year.  _ Childish,  _ she called it, when I replaced his conditioner with pink hair dye.) So I'm not sure why she'd start our soulmate correspondence parodying someone's overly formal dad. 

I tap my fingers anxiously on my desk, awaiting a reply. That movement's not enough to still my nerves; my feet start to feel restless, so I start pacing. 

I'm grateful Baz is at his violin lesson; I'd hate for him to see me so worked up about this. I've always told him that I'm  _ absolutely positive  _ that Agatha's my soulmate, and that's why he should just stay far away from her. So I'm sure he'd love to shoot me a raised eyebrow and a smirk and say something like,  _ "You're not looking so  _ positive _ right about now, Snow."  _ Arrogant prat. 

Finally,  _ finally,  _ my phone finally buzzes. I dive onto my bed to read the message. 

**Unknown Number (11:58 A.M.):** _ Well, perhaps not. Previously knowing one another isn't a prerequisite to the spell. So I could be anyone.  _

My mouth falls open. 

I don't want  _ anyone.  _

I want what everyone wants. A house with a white picket fence, kids, a dog. A happy ending. 

With shaking hands and dwindling confidence, I type out a Hail Mary. 

**Me (12:00 P.M.):** _ arent u my girlfriend _

I brace myself for bad news. I tell myself that I've survived worse. Dark creatures and the Humdrum and a roommate that wants to kill me. 

But it still hurts like dragon's fire when the fatal text comes through. 

**Unknown Number (12:02 P.M):** _ I am most certainly not.  _

* * *

I'm pushing my body past its breaking point, letting my feet take over my brain, trying to drown my thoughts out with my aching muscles. I spent my day stuck sitting in a chair after the Mage barged into my room, insisting I come with him to collect taxes from the goblins. The monotony of interest rate debates was only broken up by the snide comments the new goblin king made about my untrustworthiness. (I suppose I deserved it; I  _ did  _ kill their last king. But it was still bloody unpleasant.) 

Now, I'm running laps around the football pitch, trying my best not to think about the text messages waiting for me on my cell phone. 

I’ve always looked forward to today—to finding out my soulmate. I have ever since Penny told me all about the new tradition in first year. Apparently, back in 2008, the mage at the top of the eighth year class invented a brilliant spell using Soulja Boy's  _ Kiss Me Thru The Phone. _ When cast on a mobile, it lets you text your soulmate. 

Though, it was a spell made by an eighteen-year-old, so it's not exactly foolproof. It's got all these weird conditions: The number will be hidden from you until you kiss your soulmate. You can't text your soulmate your name, or your location, or a meeting place (pretty much nothing that would be helpful in finding them.) Penny says people have had success with it in the past, though, by figuring out their soulmate's personality over text. 

It's also a notoriously difficult spell. The only person at Watford powerful enough to manage it is Ebb. And the Mage, I'm guessing. But he refuses to participate in all this  _ 'sentimental nonsense.' _ The Mage wanted to ban the spell altogether, but the Coven outvoted him; everyone knows how important it is to find your future spouse while at Watford. So now, we all get  **Kiss Me Thru The Phone** cast by Ebb on our mobiles the first day of seventh year. (Ebb bought me the phone herself: my first one ever.) 

I thought it would be romantic, having proof that Agatha's my destiny. That we belong together. Until this morning, I never even wondered what my soulmate would be like; I thought I already knew. 

Now I feel like I don't know anything. 

I skid to an abrupt stop. As soon as my legs stop moving, the relentless burn in my lungs reaches a fever pitch, and I struggle to catch my breath. I notice how dark the night is, how high the moon is in the sky, and realise curfew must have crept up on me as I ran the hours away. I let out a tired sigh and start to make my way towards Mummers House. 

I walk through the common room to get to the stairs, rolling my eyes at Dev and Niall, who are celebrating their day's good news by snogging on a loveseat. (Merlin. Don't they know they have their own room?) I drag myself up the stairs, praying that Baz will be in the Catacombs so I don't have to face him. 

But I open our bedroom door to find that the day hasn't stopped handing me bad luck. 

"Tut-tut," Baz says, sharp sarcasm dripping from his tone like a knife. "Almost late tonight. Too busy celebrating with Wellbelove?" 

A cocktail of anger and humiliation turns my stomach. Baz is the last person I want to know the truth. 

"Fuck off, Baz," I retort. 

It's my usual way to end an argument with him, and I expect him to leave it at that, maybe with an eye roll or a scoff. But he's got cruel fire dancing in his eyes tonight, like a snake itching to strike. 

"She was probably so disappointed, finding out she's been shackled to a ticking time bomb," he continues. "Poor girl. Send her my condolences." 

I throw my backpack onto the floor by my bed with too much force. "Have you told yours you're a vampire yet?" I retort. "She's got a right to know  _ what _ she's stuck with." 

Baz’s expression darkens and his scowl deepens. I feel a perverse sense of victory, knowing I got under his skin. 

But I don't expect I can keep the upper hand in our argument long—not when the truth is bound to come out sooner or later. When that happens, he'll have the perfect ammunition to wound me: proof that I wasn't destined for a happy ending. 

So, before he can come up with a better insult, I storm into the ensuite. I'm desperate to wash the day's disappointments off. But the cool water doesn't do anything to dampen the hot shame burning through my gut, wrecking with insecurity. 

If Agatha's not my soulmate...then she could be Baz's. Baz could have been right this entire time. I'm not good enough for Aggie. Not smart enough or posh enough. Not enough of a mage for her. 

Baz is all those things and more. In the back of my head, I was always afraid she preferred him. The thought of having to see that fear realised makes me queasy. 

When I come out of the loo, Baz is already in bed with his back turned away from me. I sigh with relief, grateful not to have to continue fighting with him tonight. 

I crawl under my covers. When my head hits my pillow, I feel something hard and lumpy at the base of my skull. Remembering that's where I hid my phone for the day, I pull it out to find I have one unread text message. 

**Unknown Number (11:09 P.M):** _ I'm sorry I wasn't who you expected.  _

Guilt floods my chest with an awful force. I try to think up my own apology, but my mind is blank. With a sigh, I put the phone back under my pillow and close my eyes, looking for sleep. 

I don't find it for hours. 

* * *

I wake up with a groggy head and sore limbs. I check my alarm clock to find that I've missed Sunday breakfast altogether, and scream into my pillow in frustration. Feeling petty, I reach over to Baz's nightstand and yank open the bottom drawer. I find a bag of Walker's salt and vinegar crisps and rip it open with my teeth. As the satisfying acidic taste burns my tongue, I relish in the thought of Baz finding the empty bag in the bin. Serves him right. 

I lounge around the room the entire morning, since I know Baz has football practice until noon. I almost consider skipping lunch, but all Baz has left in his snack stash is a mint Aero bar, and that won't hold me over for long. I pocket the chocolate anyways, and then head down to the Dining Hall. 

I walk in and see Penny and Agatha sitting together, whispering with their heads inches from one another. But when I sit down at the table, they both stop talking at once. 

"So," I say awkwardly, before realising I have nothing else to add. ' _ So, Agatha and I aren't soulmates'  _ feels a bit heavy to start with. 

Neither of them reply. We all just eat our food in silence for an uncomfortable stretch of time. 

Predictably, Penny breaks first. 

"Okay, the two of you have to talk," she demands, throwing up her hands. "You're my only friends. I can't do this all year." 

"It's only been ten minutes," Agatha grumbles, keeping her eyes locked on her fork as she plays with her peas. 

"Well, I want to be proactive, before it becomes ten years." 

"A bit dramatic, Pen," I sigh. But she's already got the ball rolling, so I give in. "Wanna go talk outside, Aggie?" 

She nods, and follows me out to the courtyard. We sit by the fountain, and the inches between us feel like miles. 

"I know who my soulmate is," Agatha starts. 

Shock steals the air from my chest. Even if your soulmate is at Watford, it can take weeks or months or even years to figure out who it is. Some people report to the Coven that they  _ still _ don't know who it is, and that they've given up even trying. Twenty-four hours must be some kind of record. 

I don't mean to ask the question; it just slips out. 

"Is it Baz?" 

Her eyes narrow into slits. "How do you manage to make  _ everything  _ about Baz?" 

"Er. I mean, I know he flirts with you, and..." I mumble. I decide not to add that she seems flattered by his attention; Agatha can be really scary when she's mad. 

"Well, this isn't about  _ Baz,  _ this is about  _ me."  _ She runs her hand through her hair, like she always does when she's frustrated. "Baz isn't my soulmate. But I'm trying to tell you something important right now, and I’d really appreciate it if you could be supportive." 

"I'm sorry, Aggie," I say, and really mean it. I feel embarrassed for my outburst. 

Agatha may be my girlfriend, but before that, she was always my friend. I should be here for her, not wallowing in jealousy and self-pity. (Or, at least, I should pretend I'm not.) 

"You can tell me," I add. "Promise." 

She takes a deep breath. "When I texted my soulmate, all my messages got sent back." 

I struggle to understand. "What?" 

"Every time I sent a text, within a second I'd get the exact same text mirrored back to me. It's what happens when you text your own number, you see." She grins widely at me, and it's so genuine, I unconsciously return it. I haven't seen her smile like that in a long while. "I'm my  _ own  _ soulmate." 

"Oh…" I say, still grinning and still not understanding. 

"Penny told me about this thing. Aromanticism," she explains. "It's when you're not romantically attracted to anyone. It just… clicked. That's what I am. That's why I'm my own soulmate. I don't need that sort of love from anyone but myself." 

I've never heard Agatha sound so  _ sure.  _ She's usually so sceptical of everything—when Penny and I come to her with our theories on our latest mission, when she listens to her mother go on about the importance of maintaining the Magickal bloodline, when I tell her how great it'll be to move to London and get an apartment, the three of us. But right now, confidence paints her features and squares her shoulders, making her look more like herself than I've ever seen. 

"I'm happy for you," I say, and I'm surprised to realise I mean it. I still feel pangs of rejection, but it seems trivial compared to Agatha's joy. "Truly." 

"Oh, Simon," she says, letting out an audible sigh of relief and enveloping me in a hug. "You'll find your soulmate, too. I promise." 

I make myself let go of my ideas of a future with Agatha. Close my eyes and breathe it out on an exhale. 

"Yeah." Though I'm still not convinced, I try not to let her hear the doubt in my voice. "Sure." 

* * *

After lunch hour, Agatha has to run off to lacrosse practice, leaving me and Penny alone to sit out by the willow tree and study. 

"Oh, hey," I say suddenly, after zoning out from my Latin homework for a good five minutes. "I forgot to ask. How was it when you texted Micah?" 

"It wasn't Micah," she says, with her head still buried in her ancient rune translation, not even sparing me a glance. 

I'm so startled that I scramble off my stomach and into a sitting position.  _ "What?"  _

"It wasn't him," she repeats matter-of-factly. "I could tell right away from his texting style." 

"I—" I don't know what to say. Penny and Micah being together has always just been a fact of life. Penny never said  _ 'if we get married';  _ she'd say  _ 'when we get married.'  _

She won't even look at me. My stomach churns with worry. 

"Penny," I whisper, gently grabbing her chin and looking into her eyes. 

That breaks her steady resolve. Her lips start to wobble, and within a moment she's crying into my shoulder, her chest wracked with violent sobs. 

I've never seen Penny cry. Not even when she got bit by a basilisk. Not even when we were kidnapped by the selkies. 

Never, until now. 

"It's okay," I reply, trying—and failing—not to be awkward as I pat her on the shoulder. 

"A-a-and my soulmate is awful!" she weeps. "He's not even a mage! I had to explain the whole soulmate text thing, and he wouldn't stop asking me questions about the magical theory of it! Apparently, he's some sort of magickal groupie! Like, he travels the world chasing elves and water spirits and who knows what!" 

I'm sort of failing to see the problem. "That doesn't sound so bad," I say, trying to be comforting. 

"It  _ is _ so bad!" Penny looks up at me with a deadly serious expression. "He won't stop sending me memes, Simon. I don't even  _ understand  _ half of them! Look at this, look at this!" She pulls her phone out of her pocket. (We're really not supposed to have them out of our rooms, but I'm not about to remind her of that right now.) It's a picture of Kermit the Frog drinking Lipton Tea with the caption,  _ 'You believe in fairies but not Bigfoot, but that's none of my business. _ ' I have to stifle a laugh. "Like,  _ what?  _ Why is he sending me this?" 

"I think he's trying to flirt with you," I add. The look she gives me tells me that wasn't helpful commentary. 

"Well, I don't want to flirt with him. I mean, I've only been single for one day…" 

Penny dissolves into another round of tears, and I wrap her into another tight hug. 

* * *

After dinner, I go up to my bedroom. I check that Baz is gone before burying my face into my pillow. 

Today's been a rollercoaster. I'm not even sure what to think about everything that happened. My brain feels like a tangled mess, and my heart feels like it's been twisted inside my chest. 

Micah's not Penny's soulmate. (Somehow, that was even more shocking than Agatha not being my soulmate.) I've never seen Penny so heartbroken… 

I wasn't half as devastated when I realised Agatha wasn't my soulmate. (Though, thank  _ Merlin _ she's not Baz's either.) I still feel sad about that… or maybe not sad. Just disappointed. Like when I'm expecting the Dining Hall to serve roast beef and they don't. 

I try to remember all the good parts of our relationship, but now that I know we're not meant to be, it's like it's harder to see our love through rose-coloured glasses. Sure, we get along—we always have. We were comfortable around one another. Like family. I thought that I'd always have a place at the Wellbeloves—somewhere to go home to. 

Realising that I've lost my place to go for Christmas hurts worse than losing Agatha. Which makes me think that maybe I wasn't as in love with her as I thought I was. 

Maybe that's because I have my soulmate. Someone else. 

I close my eyes and try to picture what my soulmate might look like—what my ideal person would be like. But it's like looking through an unfocused camera lens; I can't see any of the details. I'm not sure whether to image someone just like Agatha or someone nothing like her. I sigh, giving up on trying to paint the face of a stranger. (My new ' _ acquaintance.')  _

I should probably text my soulmate. We left off kind of weird, and I don't want her thinking that I'm upset with her. (Merlin, I made a horrible first impression.)

I type out three messages back to back without overthinking it. 

**Me (7:51 P.M.):** _ im sorry for how i reacted earlier. im sure ur a sweet girl. i was just surprised u werent who i thought u would be  _

**Me (7:52 P.M.):** _ i broke up with my gf btw if u were wondering  _

**Me (7:52 P.M.):** _ so im single  _

I stare at the messages I sent, a mixture of hope and nerves swirling in my chest. 

Maybe it won't be the destiny I always imagined. But that doesn't mean it couldn't be even better. 

When a new message pops into the chat, my jaw drops. I have to reread the text three times before I understand what I'm seeing. 

**Unknown Number (8:01 P.M.):** _Condolences on your breakup, but I'm neither sweet nor a girl. I'm a boy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my love letter to Amy! Let me know what you thought if you have a minute! 
> 
> & I'm on [Tumblr here](https://annabellelux.tumblr.com)
> 
> also, here's the meme for reference:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/187986359@N08/50954238207/in/dateposted-public/)


	2. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and his Unknown Number become friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it with Chapter 2! Sorry this update took a minute, I'm busy suffering at the hands of academia/ the American Bar Association. 
> 
> All my love to @waterwings, my inspiration for this fic and the owner of my heart. I love you dearly and I hope these words convey my deep adoration ♡
> 
> Thanks for the beta help @scone-lover & @AliceLiddle, and for Brit-picking @otherworldsivelivedin! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

We're all eating breakfast when I just blurt it out. 

"How do you know if you're gay?" 

Penny and Agatha both give me blank looks for a moment. Then they both speak at once. 

"How would _I_ know?" Penny says. 

"You want to tell us something, Si?" Agatha asks with both her eyebrows raised. 

"Hypothetically..." I mumble, looking down at my beans and toast, "what would it mean if your soulmate was a bloke?" 

"I'm sorry," Penny says, and I can hear the scepticism dripping heavily into her tone. "Is this really a hypothetical?" 

I huff. "Okay, obviously it's not. My soulmate told me he's a boy." I pause, and when I speak my voice comes out quiet. "I... didn't know I liked boys. But, I mean, isn't that something I'm just supposed to _know?"_

I spent the better part of an hour pacing on Sunday night until Baz came back to the room. He was in a sour mood, throwing me an overdramatic sneer before slamming the bathroom door behind him. Between my panicked confusion and his violent antagonism, you could cut the tension in there with a knife. 

It's been days, and I still haven't responded. Haven't known what to say. Haven't known what to _feel._

"It takes some people longer than others, Simon," Agatha says, reaching over the table to grab my hand. "It's okay if you don't know yet." 

I close my eyes and set my head down on the table. I mumble my response into the wood. 

"What's that, Simon?" Penny asks. 

I look up at her through my arms. "I... think I might know…. _something,_ anyways," I say slowly, feeling a blush creeping over my face. "I've always thought about girls but… I've also sometimes thought about boys… that way." 

A kaleidoscope of memories flashes through my head: boys' torsos and arms and legs, flashes of skin I couldn't help noticing, glances lingering just a little too long to be innocent. But I'd never admitted that to anyone (least of all myself). 

Agatha squeezes my hand, reminding me that she's still holding it. "Well, you can like both. That's alright." 

"Yeah?" I say on an exhale. 

"Yeah." Agatha's smile is laced with understanding—reminding me that she's had her own sort of revelation this week too. That she already seems so much happier for it. 

I sit up properly, still feeling a bit off-kilter, but also as if a bit of weight has been lifted off my shoulders. 

"Here, I'll warm your scones back up," Penny says casually. Like there wasn't just an earth-shattering revelation (for _me,_ anyways). I'm grateful for her return to normalcy as I butter up my pastry and eat with more appetite than I've had in days. 

As Penny and Agatha go back to bickering about their opinions on some boy band (Agatha's pro, Penny's anti), my eyes scan the Dining Hall aimlessly, and I catch Baz's stare. His hand clenches around his fork—his only reaction to being caught looking at me—but he doesn't turn his gaze away. There's a challenge to the set of his jaw, something scrutinizing and sharp. 

Before I can figure out what he's thinking, Penny tugs on my jumper's sleeve, warning me that we'll be late to Magic Words if I don't finish eating quickly. I steal one last glance at Baz, but he's already looking away. 

* * *

Magic Words passes in a blur of mishaps, my irritability turning up the dial on my magic, making it as searing and volatile as a forest fire. After my second unexpected explosion of power, which singed off the tips of Dev Grimm's eyebrows, Possibelf decides to excuse me for the period with a suggestion that I try and get some fresh air. 

"I don't see how that's going to help him any," Baz not-quite-whispers to Niall. "He'll just go set the pitch on fire in his temper tantrum." 

I flip him the bird on my way out. He just smirks. 

Though, Baz does have a point. The answer to my problem isn't outdoors; it's up in Mummer's Tower. 

I take my mobile out of my pillow case. I turned it off after the last message from my soulmate, my brain short-circuiting from the force of my epiphany. A fragile hope bubbles in my chest as I wait to see if any new messages from an unknown number have come through. 

None do. I take a deep breath, trying to reassure myself that it's okay he hasn't said anything else. Maybe he's been busy; maybe he's just giving me space. Maybe I haven't totally ballsed this up. 

I type out a message. 

**Me (9:47 P.M.):** _hey so we need to talk_

That should be good—direct, to the point. 

I bite my fingernails waiting for a reply. Time ticks by slowly, like sand through a sieve. I stare at my phone screen until it goes dark. Until the bell rings and I have to go to my next period. 

I sigh. He could have been in class. Or he could be out of Watford by now; maybe he has a day job. He could be doing anything other than ignoring me. 

I put my phone back, and walk reluctantly to Latin.

The rest of the day goes by with fewer incidents. I force myself to push my soulmate out of my head—I put him in a Do Not Disturb box, safely neglecting to wonder about whether he's responded to my text. And since Baz isn't in any of my afternoon classes to rile me up, I'm significantly calmer by the time dinner rolls around. 

I walk up to our table to find Agatha eating silently and Penny staring at her lap. 

"Uh," I say as I sit down across from them. "Whatcha looking at, Pen?" 

"Amazing," she whispers. "Absolutely amazing." 

I hazard a guess. "The...pattern of your skirt?"

She looks up just so she can roll her eyes at me. 

"Obviously not," she huffs. "The fairies!" 

I'm still not following. I say nothing, praying someone will enlighten me.

Agatha sighs. "Her soulmate claims he's found the lost fairies." 

Penny types away, her fingernails clacking furiously against the glass screen of her iPhone. She has the same look on her face as she had when we found the sixth white hare: curious wonder. 

"He says the fairies migrated to the _American Midwest,"_ she says. "Can you believe that?" 

"No," Agatha says dryly. "And how would he know? Isn't he a Normal?" 

It's the sort of thing Penny would usually say, her tongue curling degradingly around _'Normal.'_ But Penny just waves Aggie off. 

"No—I mean, _yes,_ he is. But he's also a kind of magickal scholar!" 

It's a far cry from her _groupie_ accusation on Sunday, but I don't think Penny would appreciate me pointing that out. 

"Anyways," Penny carries on, "it makes _sense._ America's far more laissez-faire about magickal creatures than Britain is. Plus there aren't any Pitches in Nebraska, ready to mix fairy bones into their stews—"

I spit out my tea. "I'm sorry, the Pitches do _what now?"_

"Simon, stay on topic!" Penny admonishes. "This is the first real lead we've had in a _century!_ This is history in the making!" 

"It also tells you that your soulmate is likely American," Agatha replies archly. "Seems you've got a type." 

Penny brushes that comment off without sparing a glance in Agatha's direction, keeping her eyes locked on her phone screen. 

"Amazing," she whispers. 

Agatha and I exchange a significant look. I have to glance away just to keep from laughing. 

Penny spends the rest of dinner hour monologuing about the lost fairies. I try to pay attention, but my mind keeps drifting across the grounds, up the stairs and under my pillow. 

When we're done eating, Penny tries to persuade me to come with her to the library to do research. I give her some half-arsed excuse about needing to revise for Astrology—the only class we don't have together—and run off towards Mummers. 

The locked box in my head springs open as I jog up the stairs. I throw open the door and head straight to my bed. 

My stomach does a nosedive when I see the banner for a text from an Unknown Number. 

**Unknown Number (6:10 P.M.):** _What an ominous start to a conversation._

...What?

**Me (6:10 P.M.):** _ominous how_

Minutes drag like hours, my patience wearing thin, scuffing the wood floors with my pacing. 

Until I hear the tell-tale _ding!_ and my hands are scrambling to unlock the screen. 

**Unknown Number (6:14 P.M.):** _Crowley. You either take either 3-5 business days to reply or 3-5 seconds. There's no in-between with you._

 **Unknown Number (6:14 P.M.):** _Everyone knows "we need to talk" is code for "something is catastrophically wrong."_

Oh. Didn't know that. 

I rush to explain myself. 

**Me (6:14 P.M.):** _oh no thats not what i meant by that_

 **Me (6:15 P.M.):** _i just wanted to say im sorry i ghosted u. i was surprised and needed to figure out my shit_

 **Me (6:15 P.M.):** _but i dont care that your a boy_

 **Me (6:15 P.M.):** _boys work just as well_

I read over my messages after I send them, hoping they express my thoughts properly. He doesn't leave me much time to overthink; his reply is swift. 

**Unknown Number (6:16 P.M.):** _It's *you're. You should understand the difference between a contraction and a possessive adjective if we're going to talk._

I laugh despite myself. 

**Me (6:16 P.M.):** _u sound horribly posh_

 **Unknown Number (6:17 P.M.):** _And you sound like you've never taken the time to properly learn the English language._

 **Me (6:17 P.M.):** _this is texting. texting is supposed to be casual innit_

 **Unknown Number (6:18 P.M.):** _Are you asking me or telling me? Because if you're asking, my answer is no. There's never an excuse to forsake grammar rules._

I can't tell if this bloke is trying to be funny or not, but my smile stretches so widely it hurts my face. 

**Me (6:18 P.M.):** _u seem very attached to rules_

 **Me (6:18 P.M.):** _are u a swot_

 **Unknown Number (6:19 P.M.):** _Better a swot than a numpty._

 **Me (6:20 P.M.):** _hahahha im taking that as a yes_

 **Unknown Number (6:20 P.M.):** _Call it what you want._

 **Me (6:21 P.M.):** _and what should I call u?_

 **Unknown Number (6:21 P.M.):** _If you have absorbed even the bare minimum of the limitations of this spell, you should know I can't tell you my name._

 **Unknown Number (6:22 P.M.):** _I suppose, for now, you can call me a friend._

I feel the beginnings of something new and delicate take root, blossoming in the center of my chest. 

It's a far cry from my planned destiny, but it's more than I had yesterday. 

**Me (6:23 P.M.):** _ok. friend_

 **Me (6:23 P.M.):** _for now_

* * *

**Unknown Number (8:16 P.M.):** _Pluto is absolutely not a planet._

 **Me (8:17 P.M.):** _shut the fuck up!!!! yes it is_

 **Me (8:18 P.M.):** _i may not remember much from primary school but i remember learning about the planets_

 **Me (8:18 P.M.):** _pluto was on the list_

 **Unknown Number (8:19 P.M.):** _Pluto was uninvited._

 **Me (8:19 P.M.):** _u cant UNINVITE a PLANET_

 **Me (8:19 P.M.):** _its not a fucking birthday party its the solar system_

 **Unknown Number (8:19 P.M.):** _Crowley. It's like you've never taken Astronomy._

 **Me (8:20 P.M.):** _i havent taken astronomy_

 **Unknown Number (8:21 P.M.):** _Well, then we're done here. I'm clearly right, and you don't even have the minimum requisite knowledge to engage in this conversation._

 **Me (8:21 P.M.):** _piss off!_

 **Unknown Number (8:21 P.M.):** _Said the real planets to Pluto._

* * *

**Me (9:07 P.M.):** _U PLAY POLO???????_

 **Me (9:07 P.M.):** _WHY. HOW_

 **Unknown Number (9:09 P.M.):** _To take those questions in order: Yes. Because my parents enrolled me as a child. By mounting a horse and riding._

 **Me (9:13 P.M.):** _DO UR PARENTS HATE U_

 **Me (9:14 P.M.):** _ALSO CAN U HEAR YOURSELF_

 **Unknown Number (9:20 P.M.):** _It's a perfectly respectable sport. It's one of the world's oldest sports; you should respect it for tradition alone._

 **Me (9:23 P.M.):** _TRADITION IS STUPID AND SO IS POLO_

 **Unknown Number (9:30 P.M.):** _Crowley. Let me guess: you can't even ride horseback?_

 **Me (9:33 P.M.):** _well no_

 **Me (9:33 P.M.):** _i can ride a unicorn tho_

 **Unknown Number (9:35 P.M.):** _Child's play._

 **Me (9:36 P.M.):** _well i was a child when i did it so_

 **Me (9:37 P.M.):** _yah_

* * *

**Me (7:11 P.M.):** _i want to make my 8th year spell to gangnam style_

 **Unknown Number (7:11 P.M.):** _Why in Aleister Crowley's name would you curse us all with that?_

 **Unknown Number (7:12 P.M.):** _Furthermore, what would that spell even do?_

 **Me (7:13 P.M.):** _pshhh_

 **Me (7:13 P.M.):** _"furthermore"_

 **Me (7:13 P.M.):** _who do you think u are? a professor???_

 **Unknown Number (7:14 P.M.):** _Answer the question._

 **Me (7:15 P.M.):** _idk i just think it would be fun_

 **Me (7:15 P.M.):** _that songs catchy_

 **Unknown Number (7:15 P.M.):** _Catchy like the Bubonic plague?_

* * *

**Me (3:37 P.M.):** _What pokemon are you?_

 **Unknown Number (3:39 P.M.):** _You're assuming I'm familiar enough with Pokemon to relate to one._

 **Me (3:40 P.M.):** _well are u_

 **Unknown Number (3:41 P.M.):** _….._

 **Unknown Number (3:41 P.M.):** _Noivern_. 

**Me (3:42 P.M.):** _ahahahhah_

 **Unknown Number (3:42 P.M.):** _What's so funny?_

 **Me (3:43 P.M.):** _a pokemon known to be cruel and ruthless? well thats pretty on the nose mate_

 **Unknown Number (3:44 P.M.):** _Fuck you._

 **Unknown Number (3:44 P.M.):** _What are you, then?_

 **Me (3:45 P.M.):** _hmmmm_

 **Me (3:45 P.M.):** _idk. pikachu?_

 **Unknown Number (3:46 P.M.):** _Merlin and Morgana._

 **Unknown Number (3:46 P.M.):** _You're so basic it's embarrassing._

 **Unknown Number (3:46 P.M.):** _You're no longer allowed to have opinions. You've officially lost all your rights._

 **Me (3:47 P.M.):** _like i said. cruel and ruthless_

* * *

**Me (12:21 A.M.):** _im thinking about sneaking into the kitchens rn_

 **Me (12:21 A.M.):** _bad idea? y/n_

 **Me (12:22 A.M.):** _if you don't stop me in the next sixty seconds im doing it_

 **Unknown Number (11:22 P.M.):** _In what world would breaking and entering be a good idea?_

 **Me (12:22 A.M.):** _i mean i wouldnt break anything_

 **Unknown Number (11:22 P.M.):** _Pritchard would murder you with her wooden spoon._

 **Me (12:23 A.M.):** _nah im plenty sneaky_

 **Unknown Number (12:23 P.M.):** _Somehow I sincerely doubt that._ ****

**Me (12:24 A.M.):** _u dont know me_

 **Me (12:24 A.M.):** _but FIIIIIIINEEEE_

 **Me (12:24 A.M.):** _ill just steal my arsehole roommates salt and vinegar crisps_

 **Unknown Number (12:24 A.M.):** _Have you ever considered that maybe your roommate’s an arsehole because you steal his crisps?_

 **Unknown Number (12:25 A.M.):** _I don't see why he should have to suffer for your lack of foresight in snack planning._

 **Me (12:25 A.M.):** _no he was born a prat and deserves it_

 **Unknown Number (12:25 A.M.):** _Regardless, I still highly suggest you refrain from petty theft._

 **Me (12:25 A.M.):** _but HE is the king of petty_

 **Me (12:26 A.M.):** _u dont let me do anything fun_

 **Unknown Number (12:26 A.M.):** _I'm giving you free advice to help you avoid detention and/or the wrath of your roommate. You should be thanking me._

 **Me (12:26 A.M.):** _but im STARVING_

 **Me (12:26 A.M.):** _my lifes a TRAGEDY_

 **Unknown Number (12:27 A.M.):** _Go to sleep, you nightmare._

* * *

I can't help myself from taking my mobile everywhere, always hoping for just one more text message from my Unknown Number. 

He's one of the funniest people I've ever talked to—clever, sharp, witty. Always ready with the perfect retort. 

I've never met anyone like him, I'm sure of that.

"I can't even _begin_ to guess who he is," I complain to Penny and Agatha on a sunny afternoon while we're all laying out under our willow tree. "I mean, he's just… one of a kind. The sort of bloke you could never overlook. I _should_ be able to spot him right out of a crowd." 

"Hey Pen, how do you conjugate 'to ignore'?" Agatha asks, staring down at her Latin worksheet. 

"Which tense is it?" Penny responds, looking over Aggie's shoulder. 

"Oi!" I interrupt. "I'm talking, you know." 

Agatha lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, we _know."_

"Simon, do we need to discuss a time limit on soulmate talk?" 

"Yes," Agatha answers for me. "This is Baz all over again." 

I blanch. "This is _nothing_ like Baz!" 

Penny purses her lips. "It's...a little like Baz." 

"Thank you," Agatha says meaningfully to Penny. "Ten percent sounds fair then, yes? For reference,” she tells me, “you're already at about seventy percent today." 

"I hate you both," I reply, crossing my arms with a huff. "Fine then, I'm leaving." 

They're woefully unaffected. (Agatha actually waves me away like I'm a troublesome fly.)

I stomp off, annoyed by their disregard, until I hear my phone buzz. Then, their nonchalance is quickly forgotten. 

I huff out a laugh at the newest text in our chain of messages. 

**Unknown Number (3:31 P.M.):** _She has pointy ears and a pointy nose._

 **Me (3:32 P.M.):** _ya, well. so do loads of people!_

 **Unknown Number (3:34 P.M.):** _Her voice tickles your ears. That's because they all have the power to pacify other species._

 **Me (3:35 P.M.):** _i thought she just had a pretty voice_

 **Unknown Number (3:37 P.M.):** _She does wandless magic, for fuck's sake._

 **Me (3:39 P.M.):** _maybe i just wasnt noticing a watch or necklace, ya no?_

 **Unknown Number (3:41 P.M.):** _No, I don't *know._

 **Unknown Number (3:41 P.M.):** _I genuinely don't have the slightest clue how you survived this long without realising Miss Possibelf is part-elf._

 **Me (3:43 P.M.):** _well its not exactly polite to ask!_

 **Me (3:44 P.M.):** _"hey hows my form on this silencing spell and also can i take a look at your family tree" isnt an acceptable thing to blurt out in class_

 **Unknown Number (3:56 P.M.):** _You really don't seem like the sort to care about social propriety._

I type back my teasing reply as I walk up the stairs to the tower. 

**Me (3:57 P.M.):** _ur such a prat sometimes, u know that?_

I open the door with a grin on my face. But it wavers when I see I'm not the only one here. 

Baz is laying on his stomach, typing away on his phone with a dazzling smile on. 

The sight settles in my gut like a weight, like I've dropped my stomach to the floor. It makes me feel off-balance—like the entire world's shifted ninety degrees to the left. 

I've never seen Baz smile before. 

Never really thought he could. 

It's gone in a flash, replaced by his usual scowl when he notices me staring in the doorway. 

"You look like a banshee with your mouth hanging open like that," he snaps, adjusting himself into an upright sitting position. Tension thrums through his posture like a bowed arrow. 

I don't even register the insult, because… "You were smiling." 

His glower deepens. "You don't need to sound _quite_ so surprised, Snow. It's a standard human facial expression." 

_"Why_ were you smiling?" 

"That's none of your damn business," he growls through gritted teeth. His hand seems to tighten unconsciously around his cell phone. I'm shocked into the truth when I notice that tiny movement.

"You were texting your soulmate," I say, and it feels like a revelation.

Baz raises one eyebrow. "That's a presumptuous guess." 

My magic flares to my fingertips in annoyance. "Well, then, give me your phone." 

"Why the fuck would I do that," he says in a flat voice. He'd be the vision of indifference, if he hadn't given himself away by slipping his mobile into his back pocket as he spoke. 

"To prove me wrong." 

For some reason, I want to be wrong. Baz having someone that makes him drop his hostility is foreign; just the idea of it makes me feel like I've stepped into an alternate dimension. 

"I don't need to prove anything to you, Chosen One," he snaps, standing up from his bed and heading towards the still-open bedroom door. 

I grab him by the wrist—an inexplicable instinct I acted on without thought. Baz pauses for a moment, seemingly startled by my audacity. Then, with a little shake of his head and a nasty sneer, he pulls himself out of my grasp. He crosses the threshold, slamming the door behind him with a ringing finality. 

I'm still a bit dazed from the conversation: frozen to the spot, trying to process this new information. 

Baz has a crush. 

It's almost obvious, in hindsight. Baz hasn't been half as vicious to me as he usually is; he's been too distracted. Preoccupied with staring out windows in the middle of class and participating less and less. Plus, he's been sleeping with all of the covers wrapped over his head—I thought it was just to block out the light from my mobile as I texted late into the night, but now I realise it was to hide the fact that he was on his own phone. 

I hadn't noticed because I was just as wrapped up in—well— _my_ soulmate as he must be with his.

Crowley. I can't imagine what Baz's soulmate must be like. Who Baz would imagine is good enough for him—who could make him _glow_ like that. 

The thought of it makes me sick, and I shake the image out of my head like I'm trying to clear an Etch-a-Sketch. 

I am not going to think about Baz. I am not going to think about Baz's soulmate. I am not going to think— 

My phone goes off. 

**Unknown Number (4:12 P.M.):** _So I've heard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon is so clueless. I love him
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr here](https://annabellelux.tumblr.com) if you wanna see a queer girl scream about queer ships and slowly go insane


	3. Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon comes up with a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spring break has kindly given me time to write, and for that, I am grateful 
> 
> all my love to @waterwings, my inspiration, my muse, my sounding board, my favorite human. all my words are for you ♡
> 
> thanks for the beta help @scone-lover & @AliceLiddle, and for Brit-picking @otherworldsivelivedin!
> 
> hope you all enjoy!

**Unknown Number (12:13 P.M.):** _ Making us wear boater hats for five years of our lives should constitute statutory child abuse.  _

**Me (12:14 P.M.):** _ im sorry wot mate _

**Unknown Number (12:14 P.M.):** _ Those things are dastardly.  _

**Me (12:14 P.M.):** _ i thought u would like them. they r posh as fuck _

**Unknown Number (12:15 P.M.):** _ It clashes catastrophically with the uniform, the straw material irritates my skin to no end, and it gives me hat hair.  _

**Me (12:15 P.M.):** _ hahahhahahaha _

**Me (12:15 P.M.):** _ im imagining u with hat hair  _

**Unknown Number (12:16 P.M.):** _ How? You don't even know what I look like.  _

**Me (12:17 P.M.):** _ im picturing an uptight bloke throwing a hissy fit about his messy hair _

**Me (12:17 P.M.):** _ am i wrong? _

**Unknown Number (12:18 P.M.):** _ ….. _

**Unknown Number (12:18 P.M.):** _ Not entirely.  _

* * *

**Unknown Number (11:55 P.M.):** _ Goblins. You are attracted to *goblins.* _

**Me (11:55 P.M.):** _ yes i said that already  _

**Me (11:56 P.M.):** _ theyve got red lips and sharp cheekbones and  _

**Me (11:56 P.M.):** _ i mean they look like movie stars _

**Unknown Number (11:56 P.M.):** _ They are green. _

**Me (11:56 P.M.):** _ only when theyre not in disguise _

**Me (11:57 P.M.):** _ anyways. so is the hulk n hes fit too  _

**Unknown Number (11:57 P.M.):** _...Aleister fucking Crowley.  _

**Unknown Number (11:57 P.M.):** _ I'm going to forget you said that.  _

**Unknown Number (11:57 P.M.):** _ But seriously, how did you not notice you fancied blokes when you're out here thirsting even for literal monsters?  _

**Me (11:58 P.M.):** _ hahahahhah too soon _

**Unknown Number (11:58 P.M.):** _ I'm not sorry. I'm planning an intervention.  _

* * *

**Unknown Number (10:29 P.M.):** _ I am begging you to say you are taking the piss, for my sanity and peace of mind.  _

**Me (10:29 P.M.):** _ why would i be joking _

**Me (10:30 P.M.):** _ three in one shampoo is so much better _

**Me (10:30 P.M.):** _ its dead efficient  _

**Unknown Number (10:31 P.M.):** _ It's a fucking war crime and you should know it.  _

**Me (10:31 P.M.):** _ crowley ur dramatic  _

**Unknown Number (10:32 P.M.):** _ I literally cannot believe that you, a nearly adult man, somehow believe that shampoo, conditioner, and body wash all serve even marginally equivalent functions.  _

**Me (10:32 P.M.):** _ but…..they do? _

**Me (10:32 P.M.):** _ its all for cleaning?  _

**Unknown Number (10:33 P.M.):** _ I am literally fantasising about punching you in the face.  _

**Me (10:33 P.M.):** _ do i look good in your fantasies? _

**Unknown Number (10:34 P.M.):** _ Your hair looks dreadful.  _

* * *

**Me (7:37 P.M.):** _ ugh pride and prejudice cant seriously be ur fav novel  _

**Unknown Number (7:39 P.M.):** _It seriously can be, considering it is._

**Me (7:40 P.M.):** _ id never have gotten thru it if possibelf didnt make me  _

**Me (7:40 P.M.):** _ mr darcy is just such a prat  _

**Me (7:40 P.M.):** _ idk how he expects elizabeth to know he fancies her when hes always insulting her family and intelligence and status and stuff  _

**Unknown Number (7:41 P.M.):** _ You have to read between the lines. He just seems standoffish because he gets nervous around Elizabeth, since he's so in love with her.  _

**Me (7:42 P.M.):** _ well thats a real convenient excuse  _

**Unknown Number (7:42 P.M.):** _ Well, what about Elizabeth? _

**Me (7:42 P.M.):** _ what about elizabeth  _

**Unknown Number (7:43 P.M.):** _ She's just as much to blame for their miscommunication. She lets her prejudices against Darcy get the better of her judgement. She refuses to see any of his good qualities, to their detriment.  _

**Unknown Number (7:43 P.M.):** _ Plus, she trusts Wickham, for Crowley's sake.  _

**Me (7:43 P.M.):** _hey_ _wickham seemed alright at first_

**Unknown Number (7:44 P.M.):** _ Wickham was obviously power-hungry and horribly self-important.  _

**Unknown Number (7:44 P.M.):** _ Bottom line: they're both flawed, but that's part of what makes them so great together. Their flaws are compatible.  _

**Me (7:45 P.M.):** _ ok ok  _

**Me (7:45 P.M.):** _ if i say their perfect for each other will u shut up about it? _

**Unknown Number (7:46 P.M.):** _ Sure, if you spell *they're correctly.  _

* * *

**Me (12:19 A.M.):** _ my favourite spot on the grounds is the hills beyond  _

**Unknown Number (12:19 A.M.):** _ Why? Do you have a crush on Petty?  _

**Me (12:19 A.M.):** _ gross. shes like 40 and also a lesbian _

**Me (12:20 A.M.):** _ the goats are just comforting. they act like little pups if you give them grapes  _

**Me (12:20 A.M.):** _ its the only place that ever feels quiet to me _

**Unknown Number (12:20 A.M.):** _ That is unbearably precious. _

**Me (12:20 A.M.):** _ fuck off _

**Unknown Number (12:21 A.M.):** _ No, I mean it. It's sweet.  _

**Me (12:21 A.M.):** _ whats your favourite place _

**Unknown Number (12:21 A.M.):** _ That's sort of private.  _

**Me (12:21 A.M.):** _ im dead good at secrets _

**Me (12:22 A.M.):** _ i never told anyone about the time i saw minotaur and possibelf snogging in the weeping tower _

**Me (12:22 A.M.):** _ wait fuck forget i said that _

**Unknown Number (12:22 A.M.):** _ Wow. My confidence in your discretion has just increased tenfold.  _

**Me (12:23 A.M.):** _ shut up and tell me  _

**Unknown Number (12:23 A.M.):** _ Under the White Chapel, there's the Watford Nursery. That's my favourite place.  _

**Me (12:23 A.M.):** _ i thought the nursery was gone  _

**Unknown Number (12:24 A.M.):** _ It's not. You just have to know how to find it.  _

**Unknown Number (12:24 A.M.):** _ It's quiet there, too.  _

**Me (12:24 A.M.):** _ maybe u can show me someday _

**Unknown Number (12:27 A.M.):** _ Maybe.  _

* * *

"There has to be another spell, something to make it easier to find your soulmate. Trying to go off nothing but context clues is utter bollocks!" I yell as I slam my plate of scones onto our table. 

Penny startles at my abrupt entrance. Agatha just blinks at me. 

"Well, good morning to you, too," Agatha replies. 

I ignore her and turn to Penny. "I need you to invent a counterspell to the no-sharing-your-name thing." 

"Simon, I'm not a miracle worker," she huffs. "I can't exactly just whip you up a complicated enchantment by tea time." 

"But— _ please," _ I beg. 

Something has shifted between me and my Unknown Number in the last several weeks. Our messages are getting flirtier; my stomach erupts in butterflies every time I hear my ringtone. The anticipation of getting to see his face, to hear his voice, is getting overwhelming. 

But I'm no closer to figuring out who he is. He doesn't share a lot of personal information or leave a lot of hints. I've spent seven years going on missions and cracking codes, but this boy is locked up like Azkaban. 

I need to know who he is. I know that we'd be something remarkable. We're already _ something.  _

I just need to find him. 

"I know you want to find your soulmate too, Pen," I add earnestly. "I can tell you fancy him." 

Penny lets out the most un-Penny-ish laugh—high pitched and hysterical. The sound resembles a hyena; several tables worth of classmates turn their heads at the unnatural noise. 

"I do  _ not  _ fancy him," she protests. "The man calls me  _ dude!"  _

I narrow my eyes about her. "You spent an entire hour telling us about his quest to find Mothman yesterday." 

"His magickal creature theories are interesting—that's all!" Her voice has gone thin with defensiveness. "I mean, he's really knowledgeable, and that could come in handy when we fight the Humdrum, you know." 

"Oh, yes," Agatha drawls, sarcasm flattening her tone. "If the Humdrum happens to whip up a fictional flying man-bird, your soulmate's opinion on the creature's mating habits is  _ sure _ to come in handy." 

Penny turns her sharp gaze on Agatha. "You never know! Also, there is substantial evidence that Mothman is real. As I explained to you yesterday—"

"Are you going to help me or not?" I snap, interrupting what is sure to be a long argument. (Letting their bickering run its course could take anywhere from a half an hour to a week.) 

"Not," Agatha says cooly. 

Penny sighs. "I'm not even sure where to start on a spell like that, Si," she says, not unsympathetically. "And to try to invent a new spell while taking a full load and trying to beat out Basilton for the top of the class?" 

I turn to Baz as soon as Penny says his name. (My eyes always seek him out whenever he crosses my mind—an old habit that I've never managed to break.) I startle when I see his expression: openly curious and almost hungry. Our eyes meet and an understanding flows between us; I'm positive he's been eavesdropping on our conversation. 

I stand up, rattling the glass on the table in my abruptness. Baz rises too, and promptly leaves the Dining Hall. 

I follow him, obviously. 

Baz fast-walks away from me at a punishing pace; I have to jog to keep up with the leggy bastard. 

"Oi!" I yell at his retreating back as he turns a corner. "Hey, Pitch, I'm talking to you!" 

"I know, Snow. And I'm ignoring you," he retorts. 

I run to close the distance between us, grab him by the upper arm, and spin him around. 

"Didn't look like you were ignoring me back in the Dining Hall," I say meaningfully. 

"You and your lot tend to yell," he replies flatly. "You always have to be the center of attention, don't you, Chosen One?"

"Piss right off," I snap. 

He raises one eyebrow at me. "Gladly," he says, starting to turn away from me again. 

"No, no, wait!" I protest. My brain catches up with the plan my chasing feet set in motion. "We can help each other!" 

That makes him stop. "What makes you think I need your help?" 

"I  _ know  _ you've been texting your soulmate," I say, my stomach turning with the admission. The thought of Baz's soulmate still makes me feel uncomfortable—like I've got bees buzzing against my skin, making me hot and itchy. But I need him for this, so I swallow my discomfort. "You want them, whoever they are." 

"You don't know the first thing about what I want," Baz snarls. 

"I know  _ this, _ at least. You take your phone everywhere with you, checking it constantly. You seem… happy whenever you get a message." (I've even seen him  _ blushing,  _ though I'm wise enough to know mentioning that detail will get me nowhere.) "You want to know who your soulmate is as badly as I want to know who mine is.”

Baz looks at me intensely. Like he's got X-ray vision and he can see right through me, right to my core. The full weight of his attention is heady; it sends a shiver up my spine. 

"And how badly do you want to know who your soulmate is?" he says in a low voice. 

I think he wants to embarrass me for being so desperate. But I'm not embarrassed; I  _ am  _ pretty desperate. So I tell the truth: "I want it more than anything." 

He's quiet for a moment that stretches out too long. I wait for a snide remark. 

"Fine," he finally responds, his tone resigned and... something else. Something almost vulnerable. "I'll help you." 

I let out a sigh of relief. "Alright." I nod. "Truce, then?" 

I hold out my hand for him to shake. He looks at it as if it's one of Medusa's snakes, and I'm reminded of the first day I met him, with his permanent scowl and silly bowl cut and childish indignation. 

Then he takes my hand stiffly. It's cold—he's always so cold—but his handshake is firm. Sure. 

"Truce," he agrees, and when he takes his hand away, I can still feel the chill of his fingertips electrifying my hand.

* * *

I come to collect him as soon as I finish my second serving of dinner. 

"Ready to go?" I ask. 

Baz's expression stays bored, but I see him clench his teeth. "Later," he replies.

I shake my head. "Might as well go now. You're clearly done eating." His plate is still half-full, but I've been watching him for fifteen minutes and I know he's just been poking at his plate with his fork. 

Dev and Niall are looking at me like I've lost the plot, but my eyes stay locked determinedly on Baz. 

He huffs out a long-suffering sigh. "Impressively patient as always, Snow. Fine, let's go." 

Now Dev and Niall are looking at  _ Baz  _ like he's lost the plot. I pay them—and everyone else who has turned to stare at us—no mind.

"Crowley," Baz says when we pass through the double doors of the Dining Hall, out of earshot of everyone. "You sure do love a scene." 

"You have a low standard for what you consider scenes." 

Baz doesn't bother with a reply, but I can practically hear his eyes roll. 

As we walk into the library, the librarian eyes us suspiciously, looking for all the world as if she believes we're here with the sole purpose of destroying the peace of her sanctuary. (Though, to be fair, that's probably because of the fist-fight we had over by the dark creatures section back in fifth year. She must not have forgiven us yet for getting blood on her first editions.) Baz casts a  **Silence is Golden** to cover us in a bubble of secrecy, then leads the way to a section in the back. 

"What are we doing here?" I ask. 

"Well, it's a library, so I'm going to let you make the obvious deduction that follows from that information." 

"No, arsehole. What are we doing in  _ this  _ section?" 

He's led us to the classics aisle, where all the volumes are yellowed and reek of dust. It's a notoriously prime snogging spot, since it's always empty. No one who values entertainment ever gets the urge to read five-hundred-year-old books in old-fashioned English. 

Baz seems to read my thoughts on my face. His eyes narrow; I feel heat crawling up my neck. 

"Don't look so worried, Snow," he drawls. "I'm not going to try to jump you." 

My mind unhelpfully supplies a vivid mental image of Baz's body against mine, and I don't need a mirror to know my face colour deepens from scarlet to crimson. 

Baz mercifully doesn't comment on my embarrassment. "To answer your question, we're looking for the right phrase for a counterspell." He turns his nose up at me, and I see him working his jaw, like he's gearing up to something. "The **Kiss Me Thru The Phone** spell is very new—that song's not even a decade old. To counteract the effects of such a contemporary spell, we need a spell with a superior history." He waves around him. "In other words, we need a classic." 

"Oh." I didn't know that—honestly, I know next to nothing about spell theory. (Which, you know, is the whole reason I need Baz's help.) "I guess that makes sense." 

He nods sharply. "Of course it does," he says in a stiff voice, and then promptly starts pulling off books off the shelves and handing them to me to hold. "Better learn how to read quickly," he adds with a tone of derisive sarcasm. "Because, unless we get extraordinarily lucky, we're going to be researching for spells until our eyes bleed." 

* * *

Baz wasn't exaggerating about the bleeding eyes. Not to even mention my melting brain. 

I reach into my pocket, wishing for a distraction, but I still have zero new messages from my Unknown Number. I sigh in frustration. 

Old English is almost comically difficult to read. Every other word is misspelled, and I have to consult a dictionary to get through nearly every paragraph. It feels like swimming through molasses with bricks for shoes—no, actually, it doesn't. Because even that would be easier than  _ this.  _

Even Baz, as impossibly clever as he is, is clearly struggling with it. His body is taut with tension, and a frown is painted on his face. He's got a permanent wrinkle between eyes that I have the inexplicable urge to smooth out with my thumb. 

"I can feel you staring at me," Baz says without looking up from his copy of The Faerie Queene, "when you  _ should _ be staring at your book."

"I'm bored," I complain, slamming my book shut on the table. I don't have to worry about the noise or the display—Baz always spells us both silent and invisible during our research sessions. "Isn't there an easier way to do this? We've been at this for a  _ week." _

Baz finally looks away from his novel to give me a sharp look. "If I ever meet your soulmate, I'll be happy to tell them you value their worth at a week of unpleasant assignments." 

"Fuck off! I care about him so much more than that." 

Baz and I both freeze. I didn't mean to let the pronoun slip. I'm not ashamed of him—not at  _ all _ —but Baz isn't exactly top of the list of people I'd be keen on sharing my sexuality with. I mean, he and his family are all  _ Tories,  _ for Merlin's sake. 

But Baz doesn't comment on the fact that my soulmate's a bloke. "Well, then, you'll endure a little more extracurricular reading for him, won't you?" he replies, one eyebrow arched. 

I’m relieved that Baz has the capacity to not be a prick about something, but it's overshadowed by exhaustion at the thought of reading one more word. I put my head down on the wood of the table. 

"I need a break, Baz," I grumble. "I'm so  _ hungry."  _

"Dinner was three hours ago." 

I look up from between my hands. "Exactly. Dinner was  _ three hours ago."  _

I see the corner of Baz's mouth twitch with the effort not to smile. "Alright, fine," he says, closing his book far more gently than I did mine. "Come with me." 

Baz leads us out of the library and across the grounds. I ask him where we're going, but he just waves me off. It's not until we walk around to the back of the Dining Hall that I realise what we're doing. 

"We're breaking into the kitchens?" My voice is a mixture of apprehension and excitement. 

"We don't need to  _ break _ anything." Baz rummages in his satchel and pulls something small out, holding it up to show me. "I have a key." 

I gape at him. "You  _ stole a key?"  _

He rolls his eyes and huffs. "I did no such thing. Cook Pritchard gave it to me." 

"What the bloody hell would she do that for?" I ask as we're approaching the back door to the kitchens. 

"She's my cousin," he says, clicking the key into the lock. He pauses before turning it. "Now, do you want to throw more accusations at me, or do you want to eat?" 

My stomach rumbles, and I suddenly decide I don't care even if Baz did steal the key. "Eat. Definitely eat."

He nods and opens the door. The room is sweet with the scent of baking, making my mouth water. 

"The cooks make the coffee cake the night before, and then magickally reheat it in the morning. They must have just finished up," Baz explains, walking across to a side table and grabbing a container holding some squares of coffee cake and handing it out to me. "They're not your scones, but you're not really at liberty to be picky." 

"Cheers," I say with a smile, too pleased to respond to his weak jab. 

I take the container from his hands. I open it and immediately shove a bit of cake in my mouth. The crumble topping is still so warm it melts in my mouth, and I moan in satisfaction. Baz rolls his eyes. 

  
"No need to be overdramatic, Snow." 

"I'm being the perfect level of dramatic. Have some and see." 

"I manage to eat my fair share at designated mealtimes, thank you very much." 

"There's a drawer full of salt and vinegar chips in our room that would say otherwise," I quip. "Seriously, eat this." 

Baz huffs, but takes a piece anyways. He breaks off a small bit and delicately puts it in his mouth. He doesn't make any pleased noises like I did, but he can't hide the way his eyes light up, just a little. 

I grin. "Wicked good, right?" 

"The cooks here are top notch," he concedes. 

We eat our baked goods in peaceful silence. I wouldn't have even known such a thing was possible before this week—Baz and I usually have a tendency to make even perfectly quiet moments deafening—but it's been like this since we called our truce. Civil. Almost comfortable. 

"I can't believe you took pity on my hunger," I say. "I'd never have known you had a heart." 

"I don't," Baz says, breaking off another piece of his coffee cake. "I just have a stomach." 

I snort out a laugh, surprising both of us. Baz can actually be rather funny, when he's not being such a massive prat. I wonder if this is what he's like with his soulmate—his sharp edges dulled into something less lethal. I wonder what kind of person could manage to soften Basilton Pitch. 

I ask a stupid question before my good sense can stop me. "What's your soulmate like?" 

Baz tenses. He suddenly looks overly interested with his cake, picking at the crumble topping and crushing it between his fingertips. 

He's quiet for so long that I start to think he's not going to give me an answer. That he's going to pretend he didn't hear me. 

But, finally, he speaks in a soft voice—one I've never heard him use before. 

"Sweet—earnestly so." Baz keeps his eyes locked down in his lap as he talks, like eye contact would leave him too exposed. "And funny. I'm always trying not to laugh at my phone." He runs a nervous hand through his hair. "Just—good. Genuinely  _ good,  _ to the core." 

I immediately regret asking. Seeing Baz like this—it's too much. Like looking directly at the sun. I feel blinded by his rare show of vulnerability, by the force of his honesty. By the intensity of his feelings for some faceless stranger. 

"We—we should get back," I stammer. I see Baz nod out of the corner of my eye, and together we put the kitchen back the way we found it. 

We walk back to our bedroom in silence, and this time, it's the furthest thing from comfortable. 

* * *

**Unknown Number (11:02 P.M.):** _ How was your day?  _

I don't even know the answer to that. 

Being around Baz is like dancing around the edge of a hurricane. I always feel like I'm about to be swept away, spun and whirled around until I don't know up from down. He even made me forget about my Unknown Number for while, I realise with a guilty twist of my gut. 

**Me (11:05 P.M.):** _ dizzying _

I immediately regret opening the door to questions about Baz. I decide to change the subject, my mind flitting through random conversation topics like an arcade's spinning wheel. 

The pointer lands on a question that's been sitting at the top of my tongue for days, nothing but a hint of self-preservation holding me back. But I feel raw tonight, and I can't see how ripping this band-aid off could make things any worse. 

**Me (11:07 P.M.):** _ do u want to meet me?  _

**Me (11:07 P.M.):** _ like for real. in person _

He always changes the subject when I mention it. Deflects, makes a joke. He's been keeping me at arms' length, and I can't ignore it any longer. 

The time waiting for his response is endless. I listen to the sounds Baz is making in the en suite—the faucet turning on, the scuffle of his footsteps—to try and distract myself. I taste blood as I bite down on my cuticles. 

Then, my phone buzzes and my heart stops.

**Unknown Number (11:16 P.M.):** _ I do. But I think you wouldn't like me much if you knew me for real.  _

I stare at my screen in shock, expecting the words on the screen to shift into something more reasonable. They don't, so then I'm typing as quickly as my thumbs will allow. 

**Me (11:17 P.M.):** _ thats ridiculous  _

**Me (11:17 P.M.):** _ that could never happen  _

I mean, there's nothing about him I don't like. 

**Unknown Number (11:18 P.M.):** _ Never say never.  _

I huff at the meaningless phrase. 

The confusion of today—of Baz, and the way he always tilts my world onto its side—hasn't changed what I know about my soulmate. That he's dead clever, that he's the wittiest bloke with the sharpest tongue. That he's headstrong, that he's so unapologetically himself. That he's unexpectedly soft, that he's got a heart of steel underneath it all. 

**Me (11:19 P.M.):** _ i know you. i might not know your face or your voice or your name but i know you _

**Me (11:19 P.M.):** _ and i know that we are something _

His next reply comes in much faster, and it melts away the tension thrumming between my shoulder blades. I let out a breath at his simple response. 

**Unknown Number (11:20 P.M.):** _ I know. We'll always be something.  _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long live First Year Bowl Cut Baz!!! 
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr here](https://annabellelux.tumblr.com) if you wanna see a queer girl scream about queer ships and bowl cuts


	4. Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I struggle with brevity, this fic is five chapters instead of four now! 
> 
> @waterwings is the reason this chapter (and entire fic) is what it is, from start to finish. Blame her! (I’m joking. Send her all your love. She’s an angel, you know.) 
> 
> thanks for the beta help @scone-lover & @AliceLiddle, and for Brit-picking @otherworldsivelivedin!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Me (8:09 P.M.):** _i have a secret_

 **Unknown Number (8:11 P.M.):** _Just one?_

 **Me (8:12 P.M.):** _u can never tell anybody_

 **Unknown Number (8:13 P.M.):** _What would I even say? "Hey, this bloke who won't stop texting me—can't tell you his name—has a deep dark secret, and I've decided to betray his trust and spread it around for no good reason. Want to hear it?"_

 **Me (8:13 P.M.):** _exactly. and u cant do that_

 **Unknown Number (8:13 P.M.):** _Alright. I solemnly swear I will not do anything of the sort._

 **Unknown Number (8:13 P.M.):** _Now tell me._

 **Me (8:15 P.M.):** _i dont know how to tie my shoes_

 **Unknown Number (8:17 P.M.):** _...What?_

 **Me (8:17 P.M.):** _i cant tie my shoes. like in that little bow everyone does_

 **Unknown Number (8:18 P.M.):** _Not what I was asking. I can read, thanks._

 **Unknown Number (8:18 P.M.):** _I'm just wondering how you have survived this long._

 **Me (8:18 P.M.):** _i dont know!! i just do a bunch of random knots until it looks about right_

 **Me (8:18 P.M.):** _now u know my greatest shame_

 **Me (8:19 P.M.):** _plz dont use this info to destroy me_

 **Unknown Number (8:20 P.M.):** _Oh, I am absolutely going to use this information to destroy you._

 **Unknown Number (8:20 P.M.):** _The second I find a demon that preys on seventeen-year-old boys who lack basic maintenance skills, it’s game over for you._

 **Me (8:21 P.M.):** _i hate u_

 **Unknown Number (8:22 P.M.):** _I can’t talk right now; I’m writing your eulogy._

 **Unknown Number (8:22 P.M.):** _How does “charming but absolutely useless” sound?_

 **Me (8:23 P.M.):** _aw_ _u think im charming?_

 **Unknown Number (8:23 P.M.):** _And useless._

 **Me (8:23 P.M.):** _sorry i cant hear anything over the sound of u pining over me_

* * *

**_Me (12:53 P.M.):_ ** _whats ur star sign_

 **_Me (12:53 P.M.):_ ** _like for astrology_

 **_Unknown Number (12:55 P.M.):_ ** _Why?_

 **_Me (12:57 P.M.):_ ** _my mate says i need to make sure ur not an aries_

 **_Me (12:57 P.M.):_ ** _she says if u are u “wont be able to accomodate my emotional limitations” or whatever_

 **_Unknown Number (12:58 P.M.):_ ** _What are your emotional limitations?_

 **_Me (12:58 P.M.):_ ** _idk. when i asked her, she scoffed and said "what arent ur emotional limitations"_

 **_Unknown Number (12:58 P.M.):_ ** _She sounds like a lovely girl._

 **_Me (12:59 P.M.):_ ** _btw i told her this sounds like space discrimination but she insisted i ask so_

 **_Unknown Number (1:01 P.M.):_ ** _"Space discrimination"? Don't be ridiculous. It's an established magic._

 **_Me (1:02 P.M.):_ ** _i know u all say that its legit but it seems pretty sketchy to me_

 **_Me (1:02 P.M.):_ ** _like. the stars are trying to tell me im moody. that sounds fake_

 **_Unknown Number (1:03 P.M.):_ ** _You? Moody? Oh, never. I've never listened to your temper tantrums over the dinner menu or anything._

 **_Me (1:05 P.M.):_ ** _fuck off_

 **_Me (1:05 P.M.):_ ** _and stop dodging the question. what are you_

 **_Unknown Number (1:09 P.M.):_ ** _I'm a Pisces._

 **_Me (1:12 P.M.):_ ** _ok she is excited_

 **_Me (1:12 P.M.):_ ** _we are apparently super compatible_

 **_Me (1:13 P.M.):_ ** _she is using words like 'divine pairing' and 'positive meeting of spirits'_

 **_Unknown Number (1:16 P.M.):_ ** _Well, so long as the stars sign off, we should be fine._

 **_Me (1:17 P.M.):_ ** _i cant even tell if thats sarcasm_

 **_Unknown Number (1:19 P.M.):_ ** _Neither can I._

* * *

**Me (4:13 P.M.):** _what r u going to be for halloween_

 **Unknown Number (4:17 P.M.):** _I'm no longer a child, so I'm going as myself._

 **Me (4:19 P.M.):** _boring_

 **Unknown Number (4:20 P.M.):** _Hey. I'll have you know I'm quite interesting._

 **Me (4:20 P.M.):** _oh. no question YOU are_

 **Me (4:20 P.M.):** _its the watford uniform i have my doubts about_

 **Me (4:20 P.M.):** _not very festive_

 **Unknown Number (4:21 P.M.):** _Oh, no. But I'm so well-known for my spirit._

 **Unknown Number (4:21 P.M.):** _And how do you know I'm still at Watford?_

 **Me (4:21 P.M.):** _gut feeling_

 **Me (4:21 P.M.):** _plus u never text during class hours. swot like u wouldnt want to break the rules. right?_

 **Unknown Number (4:22 P.M.):** _Texting during class is rude at best and self-destructive at worst._

 **Me (4:22 P.M.):** _thank u for proving my point_

 **Me (4:22 P.M.):** _anyways. i lost a bet with my mate and now i have to go as harry potter. wanna dress up as as ginny weasley?_

 **Unknown Number (4:22 P.M.):** _I'm not going to dress up as anything, least of all a bloody redhead._

 **Unknown Number (4:22 P.M.):** _But if we were playing out this scenario, I'd go as Draco Malfoy._

 **Me (4:23 P.M.):** _?????_

 **Me (4:23 P.M.):** _why would u go as the bad guy_

 **Unknown Number (4:23 P.M.):** _Google "Drarry."_

 **Me (4:23 P.M.):** _ok?_

 **Me (4:27 P.M.):** _OH_

 **Unknown Number (4:28 P.M.):** _I’m guessing this is your first introduction to the world of gay fandom, then?_

 **Me (7:45 P.M.):** _hey hey sorry for the late reply_

 **Me (7:45 P.M.):** _i fell down a rabbit hole on a website called archive of our own?_

 **Unknown Number (7:41 P.M.):** _Happens to the best of us._

* * *

**Unknown Number (11:46 P.M.):** _This is too much. I cannot speak to you anymore. I literally cannot handle this information._

 **Me (11:45 P.M.):** _mate i said i love marmite not that i murder kittens and sacrifice them to a demon every tuesday_

 **Unknown Number (11:46 P.M.):** _Murdering kittens is much preferable to this blasphemy._

 **Unknown Number (11:46 P.M.):** _What is wrong with you? Who hurt you?_

 **Me (11:46 P.M.):** _nothing is wrong with me???_

 **Me (11:46 P.M.):** _ur acting like marmite isnt a national staple in britain_

 **Unknown Number (11:47 P.M.):** _Do not sully the Queen's good name with your slander._

 **Unknown Number (11:47 P.M.):** _Let me make myself abundantly clear: I will not, under any circumstances, be kissing you after you've eaten marmite._

 **Me (11:48 P.M.):** _oh?? but u would kiss me under other circumstances??? ;)_

 **Unknown Number (11:51 P.M.):** _Give up marmite, and we'll talk._

* * *

**Me (1:01 A.M.):** _fuck i just wish i could just tell u who i am_

 **Unknown Number (1:02 A.M.):** _I want that too. More than I can say._

* * *

Baz kicks my leg viciously under the table. 

"Ow!" I grab my shin instinctively. "What was that for?" 

He grabs the top of my propped-up book and slams it flat on the table, revealing my phone hidden beneath. 

"I don't know why you bother coming to our research sessions when you're always just messing around," he sighs, his voice dramatically annoyed. 

I shrug, trying not to grin. "The company's just too good to pass up." 

Baz huffs his approximation of a laugh. (It's a goal of mine to get him to laugh for real, but so far I've had to settle for these little amused exhales.) 

"Pass it over," he demands, his palm outstretched. "I want to see what's so much more interesting than Romeo and Juliet." 

"Baz, c'mon," I say seriously. "Everything is more interesting than Romeo and Juliet." 

He reaches for my mobile, and I hold it protectively to my chest. The panic I'm sure flashes in my eyes must be a dead giveaway of my guilt. Baz smiles sharply, like the cat who caught the canary. 

"Oh, this must be good. Now you _have_ to show me." 

Before I can even move, he's snatched my phone cleanly from my hands. (Stupid vampire reflexes!) He unlocks the screen— _why_ didn't I ever think to set a passcode!?—and his eyes shine with delighted amusement. 

"Shut up," I say quickly. 

"I haven't said anything yet." 

_"Don't_ say anything." 

He purses his lips together and his face goes red with the effort of keeping his mouth shut. It only lasts all of fifteen seconds before he's cracking up. 

It's not anything like his little entertained huffs. His laugh is deep and loud and enchanting; I can feel it run up my spine and give me goosebumps. I have to resist the urge to shiver. 

"I didn't peg you for a coffee shop AU sort of bloke," he says between chuckles. "That trope's a little played out, if you ask me." 

"I thought I told you to _shut up."_

"I really don't know how you expect me not to comment on this. You can't get through a single book we read for class or research, but somehow, you can pay attention to"—he looks down at my mobile to double check—" _one hundred and fifty thousand_ words of slash fanfiction?" 

"It's—I'm—" I scratch the back of my neck, and I can feel I've gone hot with embarrassment. "It's well entertaining, alright?" 

"Oh, I believe you, Snow. The summary makes it sound absolutely _riveting."_ He holds up the phone to his eye level; I try to grab it from him, but he angles the phone away from me and starts reading from the screen. " _'Harry Potter hates early mornings, the colour pink, sugar in his coffee—so it's no wonder he hates his job at Madam Puddifoot's Cafe. But he starts to absolutely loathe it when a handsome, rude man named Draco Malfoy starts coming in and ordering the most complicated drinks.'_ You know, this really does sound compelling." 

"I hate you," I say. 

But I don't think I mean it. 

He's really not so bad—at least not now, while we're on a truce. Sure, he's an arsehole. And a bully. And he's currently taking the everloving piss out of me for my interest in fluffy fanfiction. 

But he's also funny, when he wants to be. And more cunning than even Penny. And his sharpness isn't as cutting when it's for you rather than against you. 

And Baz makes everything feel a bit more vivid, like he paints all the grey in life a violent red. I can't see anything beyond his blinding colour. 

I think he can see it—that I don't mean it, not really—because his face softens, just a bit. 

Then he takes a deep breath, like he’s gearing up for something. He opens his mouth and starts to say: "Snow, I—" 

My phone beeps loudly, shattering whatever moment we were just having. Baz's eyes flick down to my mobile, and then he hands it back to me. 

It's a text from Penny. 

**Penny** 💜 **(2:36 P.M.):** _Code Selkie. Our tree._

I scramble to stand up. Code Selkie is for emergencies only—this year's misadventure must be starting. 

"I've gotta go," I say, shoving my belongings haphazardly into my bag. "I'll catch up with you later, alright?" 

Baz gives me a sharp nod, all traces of his earlier softness gone from his face. I feel a pang of regret, but I shove it down deep inside of me as I sprint out of the library, ignoring the librarian's cry of protest. 

I don't stop running until I'm at the willow tree. Penny's sitting there alone, her knees tucked up to her chest, looking distraught. 

"What is it?" I ask, my terror rising in turn with hers. "Oh no, is it an arachne?" Penny's terrified of spiders; it's the one creature that can make her squeal. 

"It's not that." She shakes her head vehemently, and tears spring up in her eyes. "It's—oh, Morgana." 

I kneel down to sit beside her. I rest my hands on the side of her knees, trying to steady her. When I touch her, I can feel how badly she's shaking; it sends a rush of panic through me. "What's happened?" 

"I—" she chokes out between gasping sobs. "I think I have feelings." 

"Yeah, Pen," I say slowly, confused. "Everyone's got those." 

"No, I mean, I have feelings for my soulmate." 

I nod, because. _Yeah._ I noticed that. It was fairly obvious. But I don't know what that has to do with— 

Oh!

"Wait a minute," I say. "Was _that_ why you texted me _'Code Selkie'_?" 

She sniffs. "Yes." 

_"Penny,"_ I complain. "That's supposed to be for _emergencies."_

"This _is_ an emergency!" she snaps. 

I throw my hands up in surrender. This isn't a battle I'm likely to win. "Alright, alright." 

"He's just so surprising and fascinating and thought-provoking and—ugh!" She groans and then wipes her eyes with the back of her hands. "I didn't ever feel this way with Micah. I always felt…. _content_ with him. In control. I never really understood the term _falling_ in love—but now I think I do. Because this feels like dangling off the edge of a cliff." 

I think of late night text messages—of banter and wit and startling honesty—and say: "I think that's how it's supposed to be." 

"I'm scared," she admits. 

My stomach twists with empathy. "That's okay. I think everyone is." 

We stay quiet for a while, listening to nothing but the sound of Penny's sniffles. 

When Penny breaks the silence, her voice has become hardened with determination. "I want to help you and Baz find a loophole to the soulmate spell. Tell me everything about your research." 

I perk up. Penny banned Baz talk right away when she found out we were researching together. (She said, _'Combining your obsession with Baz and your obsession with your soulmate is the perfect storm to make me go mad.'_ ) 

I explain all about Baz's classic literature plan to Penny, telling her the sorts of books we've been reading and that we haven't had any luck yet with a spell yet. I watch her face transform from curious to confused as I speak. 

"He told you the counterspell to **Kiss Me Thru The Phone** was going to be found in a Shakespeare play?" 

"Not specifically Shakespeare." I shrug. "It could be in any old book, I suppose." 

Penny laughs, a surprised and amused sound. "Nicks and Slick! There's no question I'm going to beat him for the first of the class—that numpty doesn't stand a chance!" 

"You—what?" 

"You can't amend modern spells with old phrases; you have to use even _newer_ phrases to do that. Any beginner would know that using older language would be impossible!" Penny shakes her head like the very idea of it is ridiculous. "Baz must not have done even a minute of research on spell theory before talking out of his arse." 

Realisation dawns on me like a bad omen, a premonition ignored until the black dog is all but busting down your door. Hot fury crawls up my limbs until it reaches my heart, and a shocking revelation sends a jolt through my body. 

Baz wouldn't make this kind of mistake. Not by accident. 

Not unless he was trying to sabotage me. 

I bolt up to my feet and run across the lawn before I know what I'm doing. I ignore Penny's confused yell of protest as I barrel across the grounds, back from where I came, back to where the source of the ache in my chest is. 

I throw open the double doors of the library with so much force I hear them smack against the wall. I spot Baz immediately: he's leaning back in his chair reading with a slight upturn to his lips, his devil-may-care attitude blowing up my flimsy restraint like oil on a grease fire. 

"Baz Pitch!" 

He looks up at me, and for a moment, his mouth starts to form an approximation of a smile, the curve of his lips pushing upwards. Then he recognizes my rage, and his face falls into a frown. 

"Snow?" he questions, a worry line popping up between his eyebrows. 

Indignation flares in my chest. He has no right to act so confused. 

I grab him by his collar and pull him out of his chair. I slam him up against the wall, and his head hits the brick with a thud. 

"You _liar,"_ I growl. 

The little colour he has drains from his face, muting his skin tone to the colour of pavement. 

"I can explain—" he tries to say, but I interrupt him. 

"I don't need your bullshit explanation. I figured it out," I snap. "Did you really think I wouldn't work out your plot eventually?" 

"My… plot?" He has the reckless audacity to furrow his brow further. 

"A classic spell will create a loophole to a modern one, will it?" My voice comes out as barely a whisper, but he hears me loud and clear. 

I watch as understanding lights up his eyes. He looks almost surprised, as if he can't believe I managed to riddle it out. I get the violent urge to slam his head into the wall—just to make him feel as dizzy and off-kilter as he's made me feel—but instead I just ball my fists harder on his collar. 

"I never should have believed you," I snarl, and the anger in my voice is not only for him. It's for myself, for this ridiculous sense of betrayal souring my stomach. There should never have been the possibility of this feeling; to be betrayed by someone, you must have trusted them. 

And I never should have made the mistake of trusting Baz Pitch. 

"It's not what you think," he says, and I scoff.

"If you think I'm stupid enough to believe anything that comes out of your mouth, you're more deranged than I thought." 

His eyes darken, and something in him shifts. I see the ruthless Baz I know so well in the twist of his cruel mouth. "Well, you can't blame me for trying. You were stupid enough to believe in an utterly preposterous explanation of spell theory." 

The blow lands like a sharp jab to the throat, and I spit out, "You're heartless." 

"And _you're_ naive," he snaps. "Believing in the soulmate spell, thinking a knight-in-shining-armour is on the other side, ready to save you from your own miserable fate. Have you ever taken half a fucking second to consider that your destiny has been nothing but a burden from the start? Why would your soulmate be any different?" 

"Don't talk about him. You don't know anything about him." 

Baz's laugh mocks me, barbed with sarcasm and cruelty. "I know _you,_ you fucking nightmare. Your life is always going to be an unmitigated disaster." 

"Yeah, and you love to make sure of that, don't you?" I laugh bitterly, and it almost sounds like a sob. "Merlin, Baz. Do you really hate me this much?"

He opens his mouth, and then closes it. His jaw locks—an act of defiance. I want to choke the answers out of him. I want to know _why._ Why he would pretend to help me, just to ruin everything. Why he'd bother with the white flag—the trips to the kitchen and the jokes and the smiles. Why he's always at the center of everything in my world, tearing it apart like an unrelenting storm. 

But the librarian doesn't want answers; she's had more than enough of our scene. 

"Boys!" she shrieks. She looks as if she caught us burning books for a Satanic ritual. "Out! Both of you! You are _banned_ from _ever_ coming back here again!"

Baz looks as if she cursed him with a lifetime of bad hair days. He storms off in a huff, rage rolling off of him in waves, hitting me and rekindling the fire burning under my fingertips. 

I leave too, before my magic can manifest into flames. 

As I rush out of the double doors to the library, I whip my phone out of my pocket, needing to rant to my Unknown Number. Needing his steadying presence and rallying wit. 

**Me (3:23 P.M.):** _the crucible has a sick sense of humour_

 **Me (3:23 P.M.):** _i hate baz pitch. i hate him i hate him i hate him_

 **Me (3:24 P.M.):** _he is the worst most unforgivable person ive ever met_

 **Me (3:24 P.M.):** _i feel bad for his soulmate for getting stuck with him_

Guilt stirs in my stomach as soon as I send the texts. It's a callous thing to say, fueled by rage and embarrassment and betrayal, and I only half mean it. I hope my soulmate won't think any worse of me for being so ruthless. 

I reread the messages, hot with shame…. and then I go cold with shock. The spell made a mistake: it let me send the messages about The Crucible and Baz back to back. 

My soulmate's clever; he'll connect the dots in an instant. (Even if he _wasn't_ so clever, everyone knows that me and Baz are roommates and rivals.)

I see my message has been read, and my heart stutters.

My soulmate knows I'm Simon Snow. 

Three little dots pop up on the screen—he's typing—and I hold my breath. 

Then the dots disappear. 

And they don't come back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you are probably going “WHAT THE FUCK” right now. But, honestly, would this really be one of my fics without the angst?
> 
> I'm on [annabellelux on tumblr](https://annabellelux.tumblr.com) if you wanna see me scream into the void


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